Page 7 of Her Pretty Words

A man tucked away in the alley shoots me a hungry look. His eyes seem to travel down my body, leaving me feeling filthy. I pull my shoulders back and pickup my pace.

“I’m not leaving you alone. Besides, I need a hotel room for the night too.”

I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I hoped he wouldn’t. Men don’t infringe in other men’s space, and I know if I’m within Grayson’s, I’ll be safe from their advances.

I tuck my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and fumble with my thumbs. We step through automatic doors and into the grand lobby of the hotel and walk up to the front desk.

“I need to book a room for a night or two,” I say.

“I’m sorry, miss. We are booked for tonight,” the man behind the counter says.

“How can you be booked? There are hundreds of rooms in this place.”

“We book several weeks in advance.”

I glance at the lobby, noticing women in dresses sitting with men who wear suits, sipping cocktails. A server who holds a silver tray hands a lady a drink, then takes the empty glass she holds. I’ll admit this place is fancy, but acquiring awaitlist? Is the toilet paper made of gold or something?

“I checked out about four hours ago. Is my room still available?” Grayson speaks up, handing him his driver’s license. The clerk types away at the computer.

My pulse slams into my ears. I am about to leave to find another hotel, but Grayson grabs ahold of my elbow, stilling me.

“Your room won’t be filled until tomorrow afternoon. If you don’t mind the beds being unkept, I can extend your stay.”

“Perfect,” Grayson says, accepting a plastic card the clerk hands to him.

I pull my arm away.

“You can have the room,” Grayson says.

I look at him hesitantly and then shake my head to decline his offer.

“It wasn’t up for choice, here.” He hands me the card key.

A large part of me realizes how much I need this room, considering how late it’s getting. I don’t want to explore the streets by myself, but the smaller, more prideful part doesn’t want to accept his help. It’s a strenuous effort not to leave, and I hope my silence is an answer in itself.

“All right then, it’s settled. I’ll walk you to your room,” he says, already making his way toward the elevators. I catch up to him.

“That’s really unnecessary,” I say, when he follows me into the elevator.

There is no hint of that sarcastic grin. He looks genuine when he says, “I’ll stay at the other end of the hallway if it makes you feel better. I just need to see you make it to your room safely. Peace of mind and all.” He whispers the last part, his gaze faraway as if something sparked his memory. I don’t know what compels me to grant him peace of mind, but I nod.

I shift up and down on my toes, unable to sit still. “Is there a bar here?” I ask before thinking.

Grayson’s left eyebrow raises. “Probably.”

I slowly nod my head. The elevator opens with a ding. He gestures with his arm for me to exit first, following directly after. The narrow hallways smells of essential oils, as though the hotel spa is on this floor too.

“You want to go to the hotel bar?” he asks.

“No.”

“I can tell you do.” He grins.

“I don’t.” I kind of do. There’s one bar where I live, and Walter threw a fit the first and only time I went there with some girls I went to college with.

I search for my room, going in the wrong direction when Grayson calls, “This way.” I follow him down the rows of doors, until we get to room 9500.

I don’t move to grab the key card from my pocket. Something deep down urges me to follow that call, the one shouting at me to live. Not just survive the day, but really, trulylive.I’m in New York City for the first time in my life. I want to see it. Experience something new.

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